


Displace

by dontcareajot



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Body Swap, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-06-10 07:11:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6944899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontcareajot/pseuds/dontcareajot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter thought he’d mentally prepared himself for… <i>this</i>. For seeing himself outside of himself. But it turns out he wasn’t prepared at all.</p><p>Wade evidently wasn’t prepared either. He looks Peter up and down, expression growing more and more incredulous. “What,” he says finally. “The <i>fuck</i>.”</p><p>(or, <i>one of those body swap fics</i>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Peter is still mostly asleep when it strikes him that _something isn’t right_. The ensuing swim towards consciousness is a struggle. It drags and pulls and Peter is almost awake when he starts to feel uncomfortable. Then his skin starts to crawl and itch and then _hurt_ and, finally, he opens his eyes with a gasp, lungs burning.

He sits up, arms wrapped around himself and teeth clenched as the pain only grows more intense, more needling. It’s an all-over sort of pain, not something he can pin down to a specific limb or injury and, for a few terrible moments, it incapacitates him. He sits there, shaking with it, eyes shut tight, unable to do anything but pray it subsides.

It does subside, marginally. Or maybe Peter just adjusts to it, begins to subconsciously accommodate it. Either way, it doesn’t go away completely. But, eventually, Peter is able to breathe again, to move. The shaking stops. He forces himself to open his eyes and inspect the damage.

At first, Peter’s tired brain can’t comprehend the sight that greets him. He holds up his hands, turns them over and over again. The sleeves on his overlarge sweater fall back, revealing his wrists. Except they aren’t _his_ wrists. Because his wrists don’t look like that, and neither do his hands. Not only are they larger, with thick, callused fingers, but they’re also covered completely in scars. And, he discovers when he explores further, so are his feet and legs, which are bare up to the knee. His skin all over is ridged, bumpy, and a patchwork of different colors. Some of the scars have faded to white, but some looks fresh and angry and red. Others fall somewhere in between, settling at various shades of flesh-toned pink.

Peter struggles up off the bed. His heart can’t seem to decide whether it wants to be in his throat or sink to his feet. It doesn’t help anything when he finally takes notice of his surroundings. Those, too, are unfamiliar. This isn’t his bedroom. Or, it’s not the bedroom he remembers having. This room is bare bones, barely lived in, not like his own.

Peter makes it to the attached bathroom, simultaneously desperate to look in the mirror and desperate to avoid it. The face that looks back belongs to a stranger. Like the rest of him, the skin is scarred. The eyes are brown, expressive, and the lips are turned down at the corners. Peter experimentally twitches them up, only to watch his reflection do the same.

He curses, turns, knocks his hand against the sink, curses again. He’s taller now, his limbs longer. He can feel it in the awkwardness of his stride as he begins to pace around the bedroom, agitated and confused. He shakes his hands out, pulls his sleeves over them, fidgets with the hem of his sweater, tries to recall the previous night. His brain is such a whirlwind of activity that it doesn’t come easy, but he definitely doesn’t remember being caught in a fire or angering anyone with magical powers.

He spots red. It brings him up short.

He kneels beside the bed, fishes out the red thing. Holds it up.

Deadpool’s costume.

Deadpool’s costume, Deadpool’s scars, Deadpool’s bedroom. Deadpool’s _body_. It must be. Peter has never seen Wade out of his mask but- well. His appearance fits with the rumors that Peter has heard. He didn’t realize the scars came with this _pain_ , though. This constant feeling of being stretched too thin, of being raw. Even the shifting of fabric against his skin is irritating.

Peter sits at the foot of the bed, holding the costume in his hands. Staring at it as though it might provide him with answers. He runs his fingers over the worn leather and wonders what the hell he’s supposed to do next.

His heart does another little jump as he realizes- if he’s in Wade’s body, then Wade must be in his. Because where else would Wade’s consciousness go? Surely Peter didn’t just _evict_ him from his own body. His soul would have to go somewhere.

“Well, shit,” Peter says, with feeling.

He doesn’t even consider donning Deadpool’s suit. Instead, he snatches up the nearest pair of pants- and, as an afterthought, a baseball cap that’s been discarded on the nightstand. Peter isn’t even sure which team the logo is for. It doesn’t matter. The cap is just to keep him as inconspicuous as possible.

He finds Deadpool’s phone in the living room. He pockets it, just in case.

There are probably people, like the Avengers or the X-Men or Shield, who try to keep tabs on Deadpool, for the sake of everyone’s health and safety. Peter isn’t one of them. He’s not sure what to expect when he trots down the stairs of the apartment complex and out into the open air, because he’s not sure where on Earth Deadpool usually spends his time, much less where he might’ve happened to be last night. Deadpool could live in Zimbabwe for all Peter knows. It is, therefore, a pleasant surprise to find that Peter recognizes the neighborhood and, what’s more, it’s not all that far from Peter’s own apartment.

Far enough that he decides to catch a cab. He pays with a crumpled up bill he finds in Deadpool’s pants pocket, figures this constitutes an emergency and he can pay the mercenary back once everything goes back to normal. Assuming things do eventually go back to normal. And hopefully they will- soon. It’s difficult to ignore the looks the cab driver keeps throwing him in the rearview mirror.

Peter tries not to think about it. About anything beyond finding Deadpool- or, rather, himself. He crosses his fingers that his body is right where left it. Safe and sound and asleep in his bed. Better that than Deadpool running around wreaking havoc as Spider-Man. If Peter can get to him before he wakes up then he can put a metaphorical leash on him. Reign him in while they figure this out together.

He tromps up the steps to his apartment with all the grace of a newborn giraffe. Twice he misjudges his own leg length and nearly sends himself sprawling. After that, he forces himself to slow down. He hadn’t realized he was rushing until suddenly he isn’t anymore.

The door, he discovers once he reaches it, presents a problem. It’s locked, of course, and Peter no longer has a key. The key is on the other side of the door with, presumably, Wade Wilson.

Peter takes the phone out of his pocket. The background is a black and white picture of Bea Arthur. He dials his own number.

It goes straight to voicemail. He forgot to plug it in last night. It’s probably lying there on the bedside table, dead as a doornail.

Peter groans in frustration. He takes to banging on the door with his palm, stops just short of yelling at Wade to _open up_. It’s still early in the morning. Too early for yelling.

It’s right as he’s about to give up and go beg the super for a key that Wade finally makes it to the door. He struggles to unlock it- or, at least, that’s what it sounds like. But Wade wouldn’t know that the lock sticks, that you have to sort of shake it in this one particular way to get it to open. He does eventually get it, though, and the door swings in to reveal a very sleep-rumpled and confused Peter Parker.

Peter thought he’d mentally prepared himself for… _this_. For seeing himself outside of himself. But it turns out he wasn’t prepared at all.

Wade evidently wasn’t prepared either. He looks Peter up and down, expression growing more and more incredulous. “What,” he says finally. “The _fuck_.”

That’s Peter’s voice coming out of his mouth but it doesn’t sound the same, somehow. Like Wade carries it differently.

Peter pushes bodily past him and into the apartment. Wade just stands there gaping until Peter gestures hurriedly for him to shut the door. He does, but only perfunctorily. Like a robot. He’s still staring.

“You looked in the mirror yet?” Peter asks, gesturing to the one that his Aunt May hung on the wall when he moved in. It wasn’t her _only_ contribution to the décor. She had a lot of opinions on _accent pieces_ , it turned out.

Instead of replying, Wade moves to do just that. He examines his reflection in the small mirror, turning his face this way and that. He runs his fingers along his jaw, then stares at his hands. Peter wonders idly what he thinks of his new body. His expression gives nothing away except confusion.

“Alright,” Wade says eventually. “Who am I? And who are _you_?”

His mannerisms are different from Peter’s. Everything about the way he moves just looks _wrong_ when he’s wearing Peter’s skin.

Peter knew as soon as he realized Wade was probably inhabiting his body that there wouldn’t be any keeping his identity secret but it’s still with no small measure of wariness that he beckons Wade toward the bedroom. Wade follows at a snails pace, eyes catching on the nearest window, on the door. On escape routes. But he does follow.

Peter throws open the closet door, digs around at the back of it until his hand closes on what he’s looking for.

He holds up the Spider-Man mask. It speaks for itself.

Wade’s eyes go comically wide. The noise that comes out of him is akin to a squeak. He goes back to the mirror, studies his new face again with better understanding. “Shit,” he says emphatically. “I knew it. I fucking knew it. You’re like some kinda catalogue model under that mask.” He blinks his eyes experimentally, purses his lips, sweeps his fingers through his hair to tame it somewhat. He runs his hands over his arms, his chest, undoubtedly marveling at the difference.

Peter watches with a dour expression, fiddling once again with the hem of his sweater. Wade’s sweater. Whatever. “Hey, _hey_ ,” he says when he sees Wade’s hands wandering toward his ass. “None of that. No feeling me up.”

Wade pouts. It looks weird on Peter’s face. “Lame,” Wade declares, but he does drops his hands. “Do I get to know your name or what? Be nice to know who’s piloting my body around like a mech suit.”

“Peter. Peter Parker.”

“Peter,” Wade parrots, trying it out. Attaching it to the face he sees in the mirror. “Suits you. And now I know Spider-Man’s secret identity. How fucking cool is that?” Peter opens his mouth but Wade beats him to the punch, whirling around and adding, “Not that I’ll tell anyone! Nope, your secret is totally safe with me, Spidey. My lips are sealed!”

Wade does a lot more gesturing than Peter. Peter sighs. “Even after we switch back?”

“Of course! And speaking of-“ Wade plants his hands firmly on his hips. “Why the fuck is this happening? Who did you piss off?”

“ _Me_?” Peter sputters. “Why’s it have to be me?”

“Because _you_ ,” he says, jabbing a finger in Peter’s direction. “Definitely got the short end of the stick here. I mean, I feel better than I have in years _and_ now I look like a walking underwear ad. But you…”

Peter isn’t sure if Wade is thinking of the chronic pain or the scars. Or both. He shrugs. “It’s… not that bad,” he hedges, uncomfortable with the scrutiny Wade is now subjecting him to. Peter can barely look at his own body moving around without him in it. Too weird. But Wade evidently doesn’t have that compunction. “And anyway, this definitely isn’t my fault. All _I_ did yesterday was go to work.”

“So did I! I mean, sure, I did get in a teeny tiny little fight… or two… But not with anyone who’d do this. Or could do this.” They fall silent, both of them pondering. Wade snaps his fingers like he’s had an epiphany and announces, “We need to learn a lesson!”

“What?”

“You know- like in the movies. Freaky Friday? Ringing any bells? They get swippity swapped because they need to learn a lesson about… Togetherness or some shit. I don’t know. But once they learn the lesson, they go back to normal.”

“But… We don’t even know how we got swapped, so how are we supposed to know what lesson to learn?”

Wade shrugs. He goes and plops himself down on the sofa, the picture of nonchalance now that he thinks he’s solved the mystery. He looks up at Peter. “Just gotta let it run it’s course,” he says, dismissive. “Like a virus.”

Peter sinks down next to him, feeling tired all at once. “I don’t have _time_ to let it run it’s course. I’ve got work and- what about Spider-Man?”

Wade’s eyes light up in a way that puts Peter on edge. “I could be-!”

“You _can’t_ be Spider-Man,” Peter interrupts. “No way. Not happening. Forget it.”

“What- why not? I’ve got all the- the spider powers, right?”

They blink at each other, both realizing in the same instant that neither of them had thought to check. Peter did notice his enhanced strength missing, but it hadn’t occurred to him to test Wade’s healing factor.

“How do you do it?” Wade asks, sitting up. He resembles an excited puppy. “The sticky thing.”

“’The sticky thing’,” Peter repeats, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah the- the thing.” Wade flexes his fingers to demonstrate.

Peter is saved having to answer by _Hollaback Girl_ , which starts emanating from his pocket. Peter and Wade both pause and look at each other. Peter pulls out the phone to check the caller ID.

“No idea,” Wade admits when he sees the number.

Peter sends the call to voicemail. “If it’s important they’ll leave a message,” he reasons.

“’S probably about a job,” Wade says, still eying the phone. “You’re already costing me money, Parker.”

Peter ignores him. “I guess we should discuss what we’re gonna tell people.”

“We’re not, right? Who’d believe us?”

Peter has seen a lot of strange things working with the Avengers, but it’s true that this is a little… hard to swallow. Even for them. When he pictures himself attempting to explain the situation to Tony, he also pictures Tony laughing in his face. Not to mention it’s a bit… embarrassing.

If it were someone other than Deadpool, maybe. Someone with an untarnished reputation. But Wade is known for being a little unhinged. He’s a troublemaker- not someone whose word people would be likely to take at face value.

“Maybe this is a twenty-four hour virus,” Peter speculates hopefully. “Maybe we’ll be back to normal in the morning.”

Wade looks, for a second, like he’s going to contradict Peter. But maybe he doesn’t have the heart because in the end all he says is, “Maybe.”

“And in the meantime,” Peter continues. “All we have to do is lay low. Right? If we just… stay here, away from people…”

“Sure. And while we’re laying low, we can do some research.”

“Research?”

“Yeah, about our… condition. You got Netflix?”

Peter sighs. “If we’re gonna have a movie marathon, I need breakfast first.”

Wade brightens. “I make some mean pancakes.”

“I’ll show you where everything is,” Peter says, leading the way to the kitchen.

Said kitchen is a mess by the time Wade is finished. Like Peter, he seems to be having trouble adjusting to his new height. All his usual grace is gone, which means things get knocked to the floor and dropped and splattered. But, at the end of it, Peter has pancakes, so he isn’t _that_ upset.

Well, not about the mess, anyway.

“Hey,” Wade says as Peter picks at the remnants of his last pancake. He taps Peter’s foot under the table with his own. “It’ll be alright. Like you said, maybe things’ll be back to normal tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, but it’s hard to be hopeful.


	2. Chapter 2

“Well,” Peter says. “I’ve learned nothing.”

He and Wade are practically melted into the couch, both of them sprawled out and boneless after their movie marathon. Peter’s living room, already cluttered before, is now officially a mess. There’s popcorn on the floor and in-between the cushions and at one point Wade spilled his soda on the coffee table and neither of them has yet bothered to clean it up. Wade raided his candy stash a few hours ago and now there are chocolate wrappers scattered about. It’s been a while since Peter had a lazy day. This definitely qualifies.

“Lesson,” Wade says. He yawns around his fist. “They all needed to learn a lesson. Like I said.”

Peter groans. “I don’t wanna learn a lesson,” he complains. “I just wanna switch back.”

“Hey, I don’t make the rules.”

Peter flicks a piece of popcorn at him. Wade quickly retaliates, hitting him on the chin.

It’s hard to imagine that this is _Deadpool_ sitting on the couch with him. As Spider-Man, Peter’s only run into him once before. They crossed paths while Deadpool was on a job and Spider-Man was patrolling. It was a brief, whirlwind of an encounter wherein Deadpool hit on him, cracked several jokes, and spoke so fast that it was difficult to get a word in edge wise. So most of what Peter knows about him comes secondhand from other Avengers or the news, neither of which paint a very nice picture. It’s all left Peter with the vague impression that he should dislike Wade just on principle.

But so far… He hasn’t been horrible company. So far all Peter has learned about him is that he’s fun to watch movies with.

“Hungry,” Wade says, cutting into his thoughts. “Pizza.”

“Are you so hungry you’ve lost the ability to string words together into a sentence?”

“Yep,” Wade agrees. “I might be dying.”

“Tragic,” Peter deadpans, but he does as Wade suggested and orders a pizza. He discovers once he hangs up that he’s got a missed call from his aunt. He very nearly calls her back before he remembers that he sounds nothing like himself. And not in the way he could excuse with a cold. Instead he sends a text. She’s not the most texting savvy person in the world but she does know _how_ , even if autocorrect usually gets the best of her.

“So, _Peter_ ,” Wade says into the ensuing silence, emphasis on the name. Then he says it again. “Peter. Parker.” He says it like it’s something special. Not just plain old Peter.

“What?” Peter asks, glancing over. Wade is grinning at him, delighted. Peter never noticed that the corners of his eyes scrunch up like that when he smiles. Or maybe they don’t. Maybe they only do that when Wade smiles.

“Nothing,” Wade says quickly, but can’t help adding, sounding reverent, “I’m in Spider-Man’s apartment. I know Spider-Man’s _name_.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Only because you’re inside-“ He cuts himself off. “Nope, not finishing that sentence,” he decides.

It’s too late though. Wade is already giggling. Even his laugh sounds different from Peter’s somehow. “I’m inside you!” he says, giddy. “Oh my god, I’m inside Spider-Man!”

Wade’s laughter is infectious. “Spider-Man is inside _you_ ,” he points out, sinking to the level of juvenile jokes just to make Wade laugh even harder, which he does. 

“If nothing else,” Wade says. His cheeks have gone pink. “At least we’ll get an interesting story out of this once it’s all said and done. One of those tales you tell your grandkids that they never believe but love to hear.”

Peter hums. “ _If_ we go back to normal.” He’s sure the whole thing will be a lot funnier once it’s over.

“Eh.” Wade waves a dismissive hand. He kicks his feet up onto the coffee table. “We will.”

Because Peter is still clinging to the vain hope that everything will be fine in the morning, he doesn’t argue. But it’s difficult to be as blasé as Wade. Especially when he still has this all-over raw feeling, a constant reminder that he’s not where he belongs. Sometimes it even feels like his skin is _moving_ , shifting over muscle and bone, but when he looks at it, it’s the same. He’s not sure how Wade stands it.

They watch TV until the pizza arrives, at which point Peter gets up to answer the door, catches sight of his own reflection, and hesitates.

Wade must see. “I’ll get it,” he says, monotone, pushing gently past Peter to get to the door. His fingers leave dents in the knob when he goes to open it. Not used to the enhanced strength. But Peter doesn’t point it out. What’s one door knob in the grand scheme of things? Besides, it’s just proof that their powers didn’t swap with them. If Wade has Peter’s strength, then he probably has Peter’s everything else, too. And Peter probably has Wade’s healing factor. He’s not eager to test it.

Peter keeps himself out of sight but watches as Wade produces cash from somewhere to pay the pizza delivery guy. It’s probably Peter’s money, since Peter left Wade’s wallet back at Wade’s apartment. If he even has a wallet. Peter hadn’t seen one.

“Um,” Peter says, following Wade into the kitchen. He’s only been here a single day and he already knows where the plates are. He gets two down, passes one to Peter. “That wasn’t- I just didn’t…” Peter trails off, gripping the plate.

“I get it,” Wade says, helping himself to the pizza. “Takes some getting used to, right? Being that fucking ugly.”

His tone is light but, though Peter doesn’t know him well, he gets the feeling it’s more than a little forced.

“Why do you think I wear the mask? It sure as hell isn’t to keep my identity secret. That ship sailed a long time ago.”

Peter stammers, “No, that’s not- You’re just…. Really recognizable, you know? And I didn’t want-“

“To be seen with me?” Wade finishes. “Yeah, can’t blame you there, either.” He won’t quite meet Peter’s eye.

Peter doesn’t know what to say without digging himself a deeper hole. He shakes his head, mostly at himself. “How long have you been… like this?” Peter asks carefully. “Scarred, I mean.”

Wade takes a bite of pizza, squints his eyes like he’s really having to think about it. “I don’t know,” he says eventually. “Few years, maybe? Time is a little screwy since Weapon X.” He laughs, just once, but not like it’s funny. “Or, not time, but, you know- me. It all runs together. All the time and the- the memories.” He pauses. “You know that feeling when you can’t remember if you lived something or if you dreamt it?”

Peter nods.

“My whole fucking _life_ is like that. I mean, sure, some times are better than others, but…”

Peter doesn’t press for an elaboration. He lets Wade change the subject. They eat their pizza and trade stories. Wade’s are mostly about killing people, Peter’s are mostly about saving people but it’s… fine. It’s good. It takes Peter’s mind off their predicament and makes him laugh. Wade has a knack for that. For making him laugh.

When it comes time to go to bed, neither of them considers going their separate ways for the night. For his part, Peter doesn’t want to let Wade out of his sight. Not while Wade is wearing his face. Maybe Wade feels the same way. Or maybe he just knows better than to suggest it.

“I’ll take the couch,” Peter says, already dragging blankets out of the small hall closet. The blankets were another of his aunt’s contributions. She’d stashed about six in there when he wasn’t looking for ‘emergencies’. Peter isn’t sure what kind of emergency would call for so many blankets but he knows better than to question Aunt May.

“It’s your place,” Wade argues.

“Exactly,” Peter insists. “Which is why you get the bed. You’re the guest.”

Peter half expects a lewd joke or a suggestion that they could share, but it doesn’t come. Instead Wade stands awkwardly in the hall for moment, shoulders slumped in. The way he would normally stand to diminish his own height. Then he murmurs a goodnight and disappears into Peter’s room.

“Clothes stay on!” Peter calls after him. “And no snooping!” Not that he has anything really worth hiding but it’s the principle of the thing.

It takes Peter a long time to fall asleep. For one thing, his legs are too long for the couch, which makes for a less than ideal sleeping situation. For another, his mind keeps wandering to what might happen if they aren’t back to normal in the morning. He feels anxious and, as a result, wired. The sky is already starting to turn grey by the time he finally drops off. And, not long after that, he’s woken by someone shaking him.

His heart sort of drops when he opens his eyes and is greeted with his own face looking down at him.

“Ugh,” Peter says, which he thinks sums up his feelings quite nicely.

“I’m still you,” Wade says- needlessly.

Peter can tell it’s still very early just by the way the light slants in the blinds, low and golden. “Why are you awake right now?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Wade lifts Peter’s legs and, once he’s seated, settles them over his lap. “Do we have to hide out here again today?”

Peter throws an arm over his face. “Why?” he asks, muffled.

“Because if I’m gonna be stuck like this, I at least want my weapons.”

Peter sits up. “What? No. No way. You can’t start carrying around guns and katanas while you look like me.”

“I wouldn’t _use_ them,” Wade promises, pout at the ready. “They’d just make me feel better.”

“ _No_ ,” Peter insists. “You have super strength now! You don’t even need weapons!”

“Oh, good idea!”

“…What? What’s a good idea?”

“You can teach me how to use your powers!”

“Oh, so when you said ‘good idea’ you actually meant ‘terrible idea’.”

Wade scowls. “What if I need to defend myself?”

“You didn’t forget how to fight, did you? You’ll be fine.”

Wade doesn’t seem to have a counterargument for that point. He folds his arms over his chest. “Fine. But I refuse to stay cooped up here. I’ve got cabin fever.”

“It’s been _one day_.”

“One day too many!”

Peter takes a deep breath. In and out. “Okay. We’ll go somewhere. We can… get food.”

Two hours later, Peter is mildly regretting this decision. Wade seems to be enjoying his newfound normal appearance a little too much. He feels the need to greet every stranger they walk past and he _won’t stop smiling_. Something which is incredibly annoying to Peter, who is currently sleep-deprived, in pain, and worried.

Peter is just trying to keep his head down. They’d dropped by Wade’s apartment to get him some things, the necessities, since neither of them was sure how long their predicament would last. Before they left, Wade asked Peter, as hesitant as Peter has ever heard him, if he’d wear the mask while they were out. The Deadpool mask.

Peter almost asked _why_. But the look on Wade’s face made him think better of it. Besides, it wasn’t hard to guess why. Maybe Peter was the one wearing it now but it was still Wade’s face, and Wade was notoriously difficult to catch without his mask on. He didn’t like to be seen. It seemed cruel to say no, so Peter obliged. He slid the mask on, looked in the mirror, and thought, _my life is so weird_.

Now he’s walking with a backpack full of Wade’s clothes slung over his shoulder and a hood pulled over his head, hands stuffed in his pockets while Wade practically prances down the sidewalk. Peter watches as he stops to greet a dog, kneeling so he and the dog are at eye level. The woman holding the leash beams down at him, perfectly polite. Then her eyes slide over to Peter and suddenly she seems eager to move on.

If Wade notices, he doesn’t bring it up.

They pick a breakfast place at random, a 24/7 diner that serves waffles. Wade keeps up a steady stream of conversation, even as he eats, which is both impressive and welcome. It keeps Peter from thinking too hard. But not from thinking entirely which is why, toward the end of the meal, he asks, “What’ll we do if we aren’t changed back tomorrow? I mean, what am I gonna do about work?”

“Call in?” Wade suggests.

“Okay… and if we aren’t back to normal the day after that?” Peter takes the last bite of his waffles and slides the mask back down over his chin.

Wade shrugs. “I dunno what you want me to tell you, man.”

Not having a plan, Peter realizes, is what’s bothering him. He isn’t content to just _wait this out_. He isn’t content not knowing how they got this way.

“Give it a couple more days,” Wade says, catching the look on his face. He presses his ankle against Peter’s. Peter isn’t sure if it’s on purpose. “If we’re still fucked up in a couple days then… I dunno. We’ll talk to someone. Stark or- or Xavier or something. They know shit, right?”

Peter hopes it doesn’t come to that, but he nods. A couple more days. He can do that. He can be patient. Probably.

“I brought my Nintendo,” Wade says, patting his own backpack. “So I’m officially challenging you to a Mario Kart tournament.”

Peter tilts his drink in Wade’s direction. “You’re on, Wilson.”

It could be worse, Peter thinks. He could’ve swapped with someone _completely_ intolerable.


	3. Chapter 3

Peter dreams of fighting. He’s not sure who, or what, but the feeling is familiar. The way his heart races, the way his adrenaline spikes and spikes again when a blow narrowly misses him. And, all the while, in the background is cacophony of noise. Music and conversation that grow louder and louder and finally coalesce into a single knock.

Peter sits up, groggy, heart still fluttering wildly inside his chest. There’s sweat beaded on his forehead. He wipes it away with the back of his hand.

He thinks he dreamt the knock until it comes again, this time followed by a soft voice calling, “Peter, are you there?”

Peter recognizes the voice. He gets to his feet, blanket draped around him, and shuffles toward the front door. He doesn’t think about it until it’s too late. Until the door is open and MJ’s smile slides off her face, replaced by a furrowed brow and a concerned tilt to her mouth. She looks him up and down and suddenly Peter is keenly aware of all his exposed skin. His face, especially, but also his forearms and his legs, bare below the hem of his sleeves and boxers. His hands and fingers, too, which her eyes drag over. Her expression isn’t quite pity or disgust but it verges on being both. Peter wants to crawl back under the covers and never reemerge, especially because it’s _MJ_.

“Um, hi,” Peter says, withering. “I’m- I’ll just get Peter for you. He’s still asleep.”

MJ snaps out of it, tries to smile like she never stopped, but it’s too late. “Sorry if I woke you,” she says, all bubbliness intact. “I didn’t realize Peter had company.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, already spinning on his heel to fetch Wade. Then he realizes the implications. She’s just come to his apartment early in the morning, only to be greeted by a half-dressed stranger. It wouldn’t be difficult to jump to certain conclusions.

He spins back around, opens his mouth- but nothing comes out. He’s not really sure what to say or how to tell her it’s all very innocent, actually. “You can, uh… come in,” he mumbles instead, waving toward the couch. Her eyes fall on his nest of blankets. She only looks more confused as she shoves them over to make herself a seat.

Peter hasn’t been in his own room since Wade took it over. He’s almost hesitant to go in, afraid of what he might find. But it’s not nearly as bad as he feared. Aside from a very small pile of dirty laundry in the corner Wade hasn’t made any changes. It doesn’t even look like he’s snooped through Peter’s things. Or, if he has, he’s put them all back exactly where they belong. Peter would prefer to think it’s because he’s being considerate.

It looks like Wade is sleeping quite soundly. Peter pauses a moment to take in the fact that Wade seems to be trying his best to take up the entire bed all at once. Whereas Peter subconsciously makes himself as small as possible in his sleep, Wade makes himself bigger, limbs starfishing out to every corner of the mattress. 

Peter reaches out to shake him awake but his hand never makes contact. Wade intercepts the touch, catching Peter’s wrist and squeezing so hard Peter feels bone give way.

He cries out, the sound muffled into his other hand. Wade blinks up at him. As sleep muddled as he is, it takes a full second for him to realize what’s happened and let go. As soon as he does, Peter feels Wade’s healing power kick in. The bone starts to knit together. It’s not a painless process. Peter’s eyes well up involuntarily as he cradles his wrist to his chest. It feels like needles under his skin, trying to dig their way out. It’s over in a matter of seconds but to Peter it lasts much longer.

“Sorry, sorry,” Wade is saying when Peter tunes back in. He’s sitting up on the bed now, hands raised, placating. “Shit, I’m- I’m not used to the whole super strength thing and- don’t fucking _sneak up on me_!”

“Shhh!” Peter hisses, glancing toward the open bedroom door. “Oh my god, shut up, we have _company_.” Peter realizes he’s still cradling his wrist and lets it drop, after an experimental twist. It feels as good as new. “MJ is out there and I don’t know why she’s here but you better be on your _best_ behavior, Wade. I’m serious.”

“Always,” Wade promises. “So, uh- MJ? She your girlfriend?”

“What? No. We’re just friends. So don’t you dare hit on her.”

Wade scoffs. “You know I’ve only got eyes for you, Petey. I was just wondering is all. Now, lead the way and prepare to be amazed by my top notch acting skills.”

Peter rolls his eyes. He’s already so over this day. He’s only been awake for, like, ten minutes and he’s already had to contend with the sad truths that he’s still Wade and MJ thinks he’s gross- _and_ Wade has already broken his wrist. He’s really off to a great start.

“I’m guessing she doesn’t know about the whole super hero thing?” Wade stage-whispers on their way into the living room.

“No, so don’t blow my cover,” Peter whispers back, eyes narrowed.

“Good morning!” MJ chirps, eyes lighting up when they fall on Peter. She gets to her feet to greet him. “Sorry, I know it’s early, but I just wanted to swing by before work and check on you. Your aunt said you were feeling under the weather.”

Peter would bury his face in his hands if it wouldn’t draw too much attention to himself. He’d forgotten all about his messages to his aunt last night. He was just trying to let her know he wouldn’t be able to make it to dinner and it was easy to blame it on being sick. He’d even told her he was calling in to work, which was true. He never expected word to get to MJ.

“I’m feeling better,” Wade lies smoothly. “Must’ve been a twenty-four hour thing.”

“That’s great! But I guess you’re still playing hooky, huh? Can’t say I blame you. You’re always so busy- you deserve a day off.” MJ beams.

“Um,” Wade says, faltering. Looking a little dazzled. MJ’s smile has that effect on most people. “Thanks? I mean- yeah. I’m still- recovering. So.” He blinks, and abruptly turns toward Peter. “I forgot to introduce you!”

“I’m Wade,” Peter says, stepping forward and saving him the trouble. He tries on a smile but it feels all wrong so he gives it up. He holds out his hand for a shake and then thinks better of it, afraid MJ might be too grossed out to touch him. And wow if that isn’t a depressing thought. “Peter’s letting me crash on his couch for a while.”

“Yep,” Wade agrees. “Cause technically he’s homeless. Long story.”

MJ laughs like she’s not sure whether or not Wade is joking. “That’s… nice of you, Pete,” she says carefully. “So you’re not… I mean, you two are just friends?”

“Of course,” Peter says, at the same time Wade says, “So far.”

Peter glares.

“Give it time,” Wade goes on. “We met at one of those movies in the park things. We shared a picnic blanket and watched Pride and Prejudice under the stars. It was all very romantic. Wade here is just a fan of taking things slow and I, of course, being the respectful guy that I am-“

“That’s enough of that!” Peter cuts in, aware that his voice has gone a few octaves higher.

MJ looks between them, openly confused.

“He’s kidding,” Peter tells her.

“Or am I,” Wade says, waggling his eyebrows.

MJ laughs. “Well,” she says, turning to Peter. “I’m not sure why he didn’t introduce us until now but it’s nice to meet you. Any friend of Peter’s is a friend of mine.” This time it’s her that holds out a hand for a shake and she looks at Peter with nothing but friendly warmth. Peter mentally pats himself on the back for his choice in friends.

“Same to you,” Peter agrees.

“Of course, since you’re feeling better, I guess you’ll be having dinner with your aunt after all?” MJ says to Wade, all sweetness and sly. “You know she gets kinda lonely in that house all by herself-“

Peter is shaking his head behind MJ’s back but Wade ignores him. “Sure!” he says. “Can’t bail on the aunt, can I? I’ll let her know I’m coming.”

“That’s sweet of you, Pete. I’m sure May will be delighted.” She checks her watch. “Guess I better get going. But I really am glad you’re feeling better.” She wraps Wade in a hug. He’s so surprised by this that he doesn’t hug back. Not that it phases MJ. She nods towards Peter, a silent farewell.

“She smells nice,” Wade says, once he’s closed the door behind her.

“I am _not_ leaving you alone with my aunt,” Peter declares.

Wade blinks. “Should I be offended?”

“I don’t trust you not to say something stupid and ruin everything.”

“So… Yes, then.”

Peter points. “I’m coming with you.”

Wade holds up his hands. “Hey, that’s fine with me. But don’t you think I should check with Aunt May first? She might not have enough to feed three people-“

“Shut up.”

Wade snickers. “You’re so grumpy in the mornings. It’s adorable.”

Peter can feel his cheeks getting warm. “Whatever. I’m going to shower. It’s been almost three days and I smell like feet.” He grabs some of Wade’s clothes out of the duffel by the couch and shoves past him to get to the bathroom.

“No jerking off in the shower,” Wade says, but quickly adds, “Nah, I’m just kidding. Jerk off all ya want! Have a party!”

“You’re obnoxious,” Peter mutters, ducking his chin. He’s definitely blushing now. Not that he can tell it when he looks in the mirror. Wade’s marred and motley skin makes discerning a blush nigh impossible. Good to know.

He’s sure Wade isn’t taking the same courtesy with his body, but Peter politely averts his gaze as he strips, just as he’s done every time he’s had to piss in the last few days. It’s the right thing to do, even if he is, admittedly, a little curious.

It’s only after his shower, when he’s wrapped a towel around his waist, that he dares another look in the mirror. His reflection keeps surprising him. He’s spent a lifetime looking a certain way, now the mirror shows him something completely different. He doubts he’ll ever be used to it. Is this how Wade felt, he wonders, after Weapon X? When he emerged looking like this, barely resembling his former self?

Peter runs his finger along a particularly nasty looking scar on his chest. Wade’s chest and shoulders are broader than Peter’s, more heavily muscled. Wade is built like a fighter. Peter may not have his enhanced strength anymore but he still feels powerful. Dangerous. In a way, he’s glad it was Wade that he switched with.

Still strange not having any hair to fuss over, though.

“All yours,” Peter says as he exits, pulling a soft and faded Rent t-shirt on over his head.

“You know,” Wade says, smirking. “If I were diabolical, I’d take naked selfies and blackmail you with ‘em once we switched back.”

Peter blanches. “You wouldn’t.”

“Nope. Lucky for us, I’m not diabolical. Any naked selfies I take before we switch back will just be for my own personal collection.”

Peter sighs. “I hate you.”

Wade blows him a kiss.

-

Aunt May’s townhouse is one of Peter’s favorite places. Everything about it just screams _Aunt May_ \- which means that the place is warm and cozy and feels like home. And it always smells like fresh baked cookies, which Peter definitely doesn’t mind.

She doesn’t even bat an eye at Peter’s scarred visage. When she opens the door, she plants a kiss on Wade’s cheek and immediately pulls Peter into a hug. Peter tries to hug her back like someone who’s never actually hugged her before. It’s a weird balancing act.

“Nice to meet you,” he says awkwardly once they part.

Aunt May grins up at him. “You as well. I’ll be honest- my Peter hasn’t really told me anything about you, good or bad. But that might work in your favor. Come in, both of you.”

Dinner goes surprisingly well. Wade is mostly quiet until he isn’t anymore. It’s like it takes him a while to orient himself and then he’s talking up a storm. Trading quips with Aunt May and artfully dodging questions about Peter’s life that he doesn’t know the answer to. He speaks for Peter a lot, too, whenever Aunt May has a question about Wade. He’s sparse with details. He makes no excuses for the scars and, in fact, glosses over them completely. Aunt May is too polite to let on that she even notices them and so they go unexplained, which Peter thinks is for the best. He doesn’t exactly want his aunt knowing that he’s been palling around with a mercenary. Or a psuedo-mutant. Not that she would mind, necessarily. She would just worry for him.

After dinner, Wade volunteers to help Aunt May with the dishes. Peter catches snippets of their conversation from the dining room, where they’ve left him to wait. Over the sound of running water in the sink he hears Aunt May ask, “So, Peter, my boy- am I meeting your friend tonight, or your boyfriend?”

Wade is silent for so long that Peter thinks he missed the answer. Peter is prepared to get angry over his answer, prepared to burst into the room and set the record straight. But then he hears, “Friend. We’re just… friends.”

“Alright, sweetheart,” Aunt May says softly. “I’m sorry, it’s just- I saw the way you were looking at him, so I thought-“

Peter thinks back. How was Wade looking at him? He can’t recall.

It seems Wade has the same line of thought. “Was I looking at him funny?” He sounds amused.

Aunt May chooses her words very carefully. “You were looking at him… with a great deal of admiration, that’s all. And I know you- you’re so private, so secretive. You wouldn’t let just anyone stay with you.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Wade mumbles, barely audible.

Aunt May lets it drop after that with just a quiet, “Be careful, dear.”

She sends them off with leftovers and hugs, as always. In the end, Peter is glad they came. He would’ve missed seeing his aunt this week.

On the walk home, Peter bumps shoulders with Wade. Wade bumps him back.

“Um, thanks…” Peter says. “For not… I mean, for being…”

“Good?” Wade suggests.

“For not scarring my aunt for life,” Peter corrects, but he smiles to let Wade know he’s only teasing. “She’s delicate, you know.”

Wade chuckles. “Something tells me that tough old biddy could kick both our asses.”

“You’re probably right.”

Wade catches Peter’s wrist, circles it with his fingers. They keep walking. “Sorry about this morning,” he says, punctuating the statement with a sweep of his thumb over the back of Peter’s hand. “How’s it feel?”

Peter thinks about pulling away, but then doesn’t. He’d thought a touch like this would hurt his already raw skin. It perhaps prickles more than it would normally but it’s not unpleasant. Wade’s hand is cool against his. “Fine. I forgot about it, actually. As soon as it healed it was… fine. I didn’t know it felt like that, though. The healing process.”

Wade shrugs. “You get used to it. The upside is I’ve got a wicked high pain tolerance now.”

“I’ve heard,” Peter admits. “I’ve heard a lot of things about you.”

Wade drops his wrist, scratches at the back of his own neck. “I hope you, uh, don’t let said stories color your opinion of me too much. I mean, people make things up a lot, you know, and-“

Peter shakes his head. “Don’t worry, I’m forming my own opinions.”

“Good ones?” Wade asks hopefully.

“Mostly,” Peter decides.


	4. Chapter 4

“… so then I said, ‘no wonder my ass hurts’, and- Peter? Are you even listening, baby boy? This shit is comedy gold. I’m feeling unappreciated.”

“Mm,” Peter says. He yawns. He never noticed before but his shoulder is quite bony. It doesn’t make for a very good pillow at all. Not that he feels like moving. Every time Wade opens his mouth Peter can feel the vibrations and he puts off a lot of heat, making Peter’s position curled up next to him surprisingly comfortable, boniness aside. _And_ Peter is so damn tired he could probably sleep through an earthquake. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “Do go on.”

“Nah.” Wade shrugs, jostling Peter’s head with the gesture. “I want your full attention. I’ll tell ya later. Why don’t we call it a night instead? I can tell you’re exhausted because you’ve given up on personal space.”

Peter sits up, slowly, to glare.

“I didn’t say I minded,” Wade points out.

“Whatever. Fine. Bed sounds good.”

“And now you’re practically monosyllabic. It’s definitely past your bed time.”

Peter sighs. “Haven’t been sleeping well,” he admits. “I mean, I didn’t really buy this couch thinking I’d have to sleep on it, you know, and now I’m too long for it-“

“I’ll take the couch tonight, then,” Wade immediately volunteers.

Peter hesitates. Apparently visibly because Wade rushes to assure him, “I don’t mind. I’ve slept way worse places before, believe me. It won’t kill us to trade off.”

Peter _really_ misses his bed. He hadn’t realized quite how much until just now, when it’s suddenly become an option again. He bites his lip. “If you’re sure…”

“Beyond.”

Peter doesn’t put up much more of a fight. He’s too tired, for one thing.

He winds up sleeping soundly and definitely better than he has since this whole thing began, though it feels weird to settle into his bed at first. Like he has to readjust. It smells like Wade, for one thing, which Peter finds funny since Wade is technically Peter at the moment. The whole body swap thing is funny in general, but only when Peter is sleepy enough to appreciate it.

Unfortunately he wakes up with a sort of sinking feeling. The feeling that something is wrong.

He immediately checks his hands. Still scarred. Still very much the hands of one Wade Wilson.

He shuffles into the living room and immediately spots the problem. Wade’s nest of blankets is empty. The man is gone and it’s far too quiet in the apartment.

Peter tries not to jump to conclusions. He calls Wade’s name and even pokes his head into every room in the apartment before he decides that, yes, Wade is definitely not there. He checks his phone, too, to see if Wade maybe sent a message to let him know where he’d be. But of course he didn’t. Because he’s Wade Wilson but also probably because they never traded numbers. Peter didn’t think they’d need to, since he never intended to let Wade out of his sight.

Peter mutters a few choice curse words and tries not to panic.

Then it occurs to him to make sure his costumes and web shooters are all where they should be. He’s not really surprised to find a set missing.

It’s only nine in the morning, Peter tells himself as he starts to pace. Wade can’t have been gone for that long so maybe Peter can catch up to him before he does any damage. Before Wade beheads someone and Spider-Man becomes known as a killer.

All the stories he’s heard about Deadpool, all the warnings, are on a loop in his head as he dresses. Peter is a firm believer in forming his own opinions, in giving people second and even third chances, but he can’t completely disregard the fact of Deadpool’s past and, as a result, he can’t completely quell his anxiety. If even half of what he’s been told is true then Deadpool- _Wade_ \- is a dangerous and maybe even unstable man. The idea of someone like that wandering around unchaperoned in his body is enough to make him very nervous indeed.

Peter forgets to don the Deadpool mask. He realizes it as soon as he steps onto the sidewalk. As soon as someone looks at him funny he becomes keenly aware of all his exposed skin, a feeling which is becoming depressingly familiar. He doesn’t just worry about his face but his hands, too, which he shoves into his pockets. He walks with his chin down and tries not to make eye contact with anyone. It feels like highschool all over again, back when he was just an awkward nerd trying to make himself as small as possible to avoid being bullied. Except worse because now he’s an adult and he’d thought he was past all this.

It’s hard to ignore the shocked and disgusted whispers, though. He was shocked when he first looked in the mirror and saw Wade’s face but he really doesn’t think it’s _that_ bad. Certainly not worthy of gasps and pity. 

Or maybe it’s just that living with the scars has desensitized him. Maybe it really is that bad.

He quickens his pace and tries not to make eye contact with anyone.

He’s already walked two blocks when he realizes he has no idea how he’s going to find Wade. He’d kind of been hoping Wade would be easy to spot, what with the red and blue costume. To the contrary, Peter doesn’t see him anywhere. He thinks about stopping people to ask if they’ve seen Spider-Man but can’t actually bring himself to do it.

Peter has almost decided to give up by the time he hears the commotion. Squealing brakes followed by the sound of crunching metal. A car crash.

He runs toward the noise to see if he can help, mostly out of habit. But he discovers when he rounds the corner that Wade has beaten him to it.

Or rather, Spider-Man has. Of the two cars that collided, one has started to smoke. The driver is unconscious, with blood dripping down her chin. The man in the other car seems too shocked to move. He’s still gripping the steering wheel with both hands, looking dazed.

Peter watches as Wade reaches the smoking car, wrenches the door off with his hands, and bridal-style carries the unconscious woman to safety. He lays her gently on the sidewalk right as her smoking car becomes a car on fire. The flames finally seem to snap the dazed man out of it. He pulls himself out of his own car, limping and rubbing at his neck. Wade backtracks to whisk him to safety, as well.

People have stopped to watch Spider-Man. Including Peter, who finally gets close enough to hear Wade’s running commentary. “No need to thank me,” he’s saying when Peter drifts within arms reach. “Just doing my job, you know, friendly neighborhood Spider-Man and all that-“ He cuts off when Peter snags his elbow, spinning him around. “Oh, hey! Look, I know you said I couldn’t wear the suit, but-“

Peter punches him in the arm. Wade doesn’t even attempt to dodge it and Peter knows he could’ve, assuming he inherited Peter’s spidey sense along with all of his other powers. It’s not nearly as satisfying as Peter had hoped. “Asshole! Where’ve you been? I _told_ you no suit, no- no _Spider-Manning_ -“

“Uh, I don’t think those were your _exact_ words because I’m pretty sure that’s not even a verb.”

People are staring. Probably because Peter just punched Spider-Man. Or rather, a heavily scarred known-mercenary just punched Spider-Man. He scowls at them. “I don’t want to talk about it here,” he mutters to Wade. He starts to march away, expecting Wade to follow. Which, Peter is gratified to see, he does.

“Come on! I didn’t do any harm! I helped those people just now- oh, and earlier I stopped a mugging.” Wade pauses, then adds, “Well, I think it was a mugging.”

“I don’t care!” Peter snaps, voice hushed. “You can’t just- go around impersonating me!”

“Is it really impersonation if I’m literally you, though?”

Behind them, sirens announce the arrival of police and ambulances on the scene. Peter stops walking. “You’ve used these?” he asks, taking hold of Wade’s wrists.

“The web shooters? I mean… Yeah. But I’m not exactly what you would call great at it yet-“

“Don’t care. Get us out of here.”

Wade sucks in a quiet breath. “Alright then,” he mutters. “I just want you to know, I’m totally telling people I gave Spider-Man a piggy back ride. I’ll be telling them that a hundred years from now. I’ll be famous for it.”

Peter feels rather undignified climbing onto Wade’s back. Just one more reason he sorely wishes they were in their right bodies. He hides his face in Wade’s neck and doesn’t comment.

Wade was right about not being very good with the web shooters. His movements are unpracticed and there are times when he overshoots or undershoots his mark. Carrying Peter seems to throw him off a little, too. But he’s not actually terrible, as evidenced by the fact that they’re still in one piece when Wade finally stops for a breather once they’re far enough away from the accident.

Peter paces away from him, arms folded over his chest. He looks over the edge of the rooftop. The people down below are as small as ants. “So that’s where you’ve been,” Peter surmises. “Practicing with the web shooters.”

“On a scale of one to ten, how pissed are you?”

“Eleven.”

Wade chuckles nervously but it dies in his throat when Peter turns his glare on him. Wade steps toward him, beseeching. “Listen, I’m sorry. But when else am I gonna have the opportunity to use Spider-Man’s web shooters? Right? And- and I just thought…”

“What?” Peter grits out. “You thought you’d see what it was like to be Spider-Man?”

“I thought I’d see what it was like to be a real hero. Someone the people look up to more than they fear. Just once. You can’t blame me for that, can you? I mean, shit, Peter- I didn’t tarnish your holy goddamn name or anything. I wouldn’t have.”

“But I don’t _know_ that.”

“You don’t trust me.” It’s not a question, just a dry statement.

Peter sighs. “How can I? All I know about you is what I’ve heard.”

Wade slowly brings his hands up, like Peter is an easily-spooked animal. He places them on Peter’s shoulders, a light touch. “That’s not all you know,” he says, voice low. “I won’t lie to you- what you’ve heard is probably all true. But I’ve been… trying. Okay? For a while now. Because I’m sick of being a fucking pariah. And the last thing I want to do is screw you over.”

Peter blinks, distracted by the way Wade’s thumbs are drawing lines along his collar bones. They’re standing awfully close all of a sudden. But Peter has noticed that Wade takes personal space as more of a suggestion than a rule. “Is this the part where you make a joke about screwing?”

“Oh, I’d screw _you_ over any surface any day,” Wade says obligingly. “How’s that?”

“Better.” Peter sighs again. He unfolds his arms. “You know, you could’ve at least left me a note. I had no idea where you went.”

“I did. You didn’t see it? It was stuck to the coffee pot.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Oh, the _coffee pot_. Why didn’t I think to look there?”

“’Cause you’re the dumbest smart person I know,” Wade declares. He goes up on his toes and leans forward and Peter’s heart does a funny little jump in his chest but Wade just plants a kiss on his cheek. He makes an over-exaggerated _mwah_ sound to compensate for the mask being in the way. “I put it there cause I know you always drink coffee first thing in the morning. Now come on. I’m starving.” He turns around and gestures for Peter to climb onto his back again.

“Where are we going?” Peter asks, hesitantly doing as directed.

“Waffles!”

-

Wade seems reluctant to shed the Spider-Man costume. They’ve been back at the apartment for at least fifteen minutes and the only thing he’s removed are the gloves. His mask is pushed up to his nose while he eats waffles out of a styrofoam to-go box. Peter isn’t sure if it’s just habit to keep the costume on or if it’s specifically a Spider-Man fanboy thing. It doesn’t really matter. Peter doesn’t so much mind as long as Wade is where he can keep an eye on him.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Wade asks, and Peter realizes he’s been staring off into space for several minutes. He shakes himself out of it.

“Sorry. I’m just…”

“Worried?” Wade guesses, watching him with his head tilted to the side like an inquisitive puppy.

“Feeling sorry for myself,” Peter corrects.

“Because you’re stuck being me.”

“Not how I would’ve phrased it.”

“But it’s true.” Wade places his hand atop Peter’s on the table. He’s let his nails get long in the last few days. He doesn’t trim them like Peter does. “The scars,” he says, running his fingertips over them. “I know they’re… not fun.”

“They hurt,” Peter agrees.

Wade’s fingers dip under the cuff of Peter’s sleeve to dance his fingers over the scars on his wrist, now. “They change. Did you notice that?”

Peter hadn’t looked closely enough before to be able to tell, but, “I feel it, I think. Sometimes.”

“My healing factor and my cancer are always fighting each other. Not that any scientist has been able to tell me, but I think that’s part of why they hurt all the time. Why I never really feel… settled.” Wade flips Peter’s hand over to trace his palm. It sends a shiver up Peter’s spine. “Sorry you got switched with such a freak, Petey.”

Peter doesn’t know what to say. He closes his fingers over Wade’s, holds him there. 

“Tomorrow,” Peter says. “We go talk to Stark. Alright? I’m tired of trying to wait this out.”

“Okay,” Wade says. He blows out a breath and repeats, softer, “Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: [dontcareajot](http://dontcareajot.tumblr.com)


End file.
